Crash Into Me (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

He turned to his friend. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to hear you tank the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Yeah, well, no offense, but I don’t think you’re exactly in the best position to
give advice.”

Wyatt laughed, but it was a rusty sound, painful to listen to. “Actually, I’m in the
perfect position. In case you haven’t noticed, my life’s a fucking mess. When you
find someone who loves you the way Jelly Bean does, you need to grab onto her, not
crush her into the dust.”

“She didn’t seem very crushed to me.”

“That’s because you were too busy dealing with your own emergency triage to recognize
she was doing the same thing. She ran out of here because you ripped her open, not
because she didn’t give a shit.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Dude, I’m wrong about a lot of things. But not this. Jamison loves you. She always
has—you know it as well as I do.”

Yeah, but— “That didn’t exactly feel like love to me.”

“Why? Because she didn’t cry all over you? You’re a bigger asshole than I thought
if that’s what you want from her.”

“Of course that’s not what I want.” Or at least he didn’t think so. He hadn’t wanted
to hurt Jamison, had in fact gone out of his way to avoid doing just that. He’d ending
things because he’d wanted to protect her from his fucked up life, from the bad shit
that always happened to the people he cared about.

And yet, watching her walk away like that had wounded him in a way few things ever
had. He felt empty, bereft, and had no idea what to do about it.

“She’s not Carrie, you know. She’s stronger than that. And you’re not the same person
you were back then, either.”

He wanted to tell Wyatt to shut the fuck up, not to talk about Carrie. But he couldn’t,
because if anyone understood her damage—understood what had happened to her and why
she’d chosen suicide over him—it was Wyatt.

“She got hurt because I wasn’t there to protect her.”

“No. She was raped and beaten because the world is full of fucked-upness. And she
killed herself because she wasn’t strong enough to move past it. She lost the light
and it’s damn fucking hard to live without it.” Wyatt’s voice broke and Ryder knew
he was talking about himself as much as he was Carrie. “That won’t happen to Jamison.
You couldn’t knock that girl off her path with a fucking baseball bat.”

“What about you?”

Dead silence. And then, “What about me?”

“You nearly died.”

“I’m fine—”

“Jamison and I did fucking CPR on you, asshole. I walked into that room and you were
fucking dead. Not unresponsive. Not passed out. Not fine. You were fucking dead. You
weren’t breathing and we couldn’t find a heartbeat. That is not okay. Watching you
kill yourself is
not
okay with me.”

Seconds, minutes, ticked by. Then “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you are. You fucking dick.”

Wyatt laughed weakly. “For the record, I’m not okay with watching you throw away the
best thing that ever happened to you.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Yeah, it is. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re having a damn hard time breathing
without her.”

And here he’d thought the tightness in his chest was the first sign of an impending
heart attack. He absently rubbed the area in question. “It’s better for her to get
away from all this. In case you haven’t noticed, this life isn’t exactly normal.”

Wyatt snorted weakly. “That’s your problem, dude. You haven’t figured out that no
one’s life is normal.”

“Well aren’t you the fucking philosopher?”

Wyatt ignored his snideness. Asked instead, “Do you want her?”

“I want what’s best for her.”

“That’s not what I asked, asshole. Quit being so damn selfless and answer the question.
Do. You. Want. Her?”

More than he wanted his next breath. Why had it taken losing her for him to realize
that? “Yeah. I do.”

“Then go get her.”

“It’s too late.”

“She left here a couple minutes ago. If that’s too late then you’re a bigger pussy
than I thought. Get your ass up. Go fix this. And then bring her back to me and prove
you did it. You do that and I’ll go back to rehab. And this time I’ll actually try
to stay sober.”

Everything inside Ryder froze. That was a bigger concession than Wyatt had ever before
been willing to make. “Don’t screw with me on this.”

“I’m not. But don’t you screw with Jamison. I want her to be happy.”

So did he. Jesus, so did he. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was the one to do it,
but what if Ryder was right? What if he’d just broken Jamison’s heart and never even
knew it? He couldn’t live with that.

“I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll talk about which rehab you’re going to.”

“Bullshit. You’ll be back tonight—with Jamison—or I’m going to get out of this bed
and kick your ass.”

Ryder snorted. “That’s big talk for a guy in a hospital gown.”

“Don’t make me prove it. Nobody needs to see my ass hanging out the back of this thing.”

…

Jamison blew her nose on the rough paper towels near the sink, then splashed cold
water on her face in an effort to alleviate the redness.

It didn’t work. She still looked like she’d been on a three-day crying jag. Which
at the moment didn’t feel that far from the truth. It had been six hours since Ryder
had ripped her heart out of her chest and this was the first time she’d been able
to go longer than five minutes without bursting into tears. Could she be more of a
loser? Then again, could he be more of a jerk?

The worst part? She’d been holed up in the back of a coffeehouse two blocks from the
hospital for the last four hours. When she’d left the hospital, she’d originally planned
on going straight back to the hotel. But she couldn’t—not when she was this big of
a mess. Jared’s whole life had fallen apart that day. The last thing he needed was
to deal with his hysterical sister.

But there was nowhere else for her to go. So she’d wandered the streets of suburban
Houston for two hours, pretending to window shop. But everywhere she went, people
stopped her to see if she was all right. Damn Texans. They were too nice for their
own good—or anyone else’s, for that matter.

After the sixth person asked her if they could call someone for her, she gave up.
Thank God she’d been in front of Genuine Javas, a coffeehouse equipped with very dark
corners and customers who had no trouble minding their own business.

But she couldn’t stay here forever. In the last hour, her phone had blown up with
texts from Jared, Quinn, even Ryder himself—all asking if she was okay or demanding
to know where she was. Normally, she’d ignore them all, but it had been a hell of
a day. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the drama. Besides, it was two in
the morning and the coffeehouse was about to close.

Which was why she was now standing in the bathroom, washing her face and trying desperately
to erase the damage caused by her six-hour freak out. She’d texted Jared that she
was fine and would be back at the hotel soon. But she couldn’t show up looking like
this. Not if she didn’t want him to wrap his hands around Ryder’s throat and squeeze
until he was in as bad a shape as Wyatt was.

While that might have been a little satisfying—okay, more than a little—the fact of
the matter was Ryder hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d warned her going in that the
thing between them was just temporary. That it was just for fun. Hell, she’d said
the words more than once herself. It wasn’t his fault that she had let it become more
than that.

Which was her own stupidity. After all, hadn’t she always known she wasn’t enough
for Ryder? He was a rock and roll god and she, she was just one of the little people.
Or not so little people if she was being brutally honest. It wasn’t a shock that he’d
dumped her, just that he’d ever looked twice at her to begin with.

She glanced at the clock on her phone, wondered if the cab she’d called had shown
up yet. Figuring there was a good shot it was waiting on her, she wandered outside
only to be slapped in the face by the darkly humid heat of a summer night in Houston.

Sure enough, there was a yellow cab waiting next to the handicapped spots. She climbed
in, gave the driver the hotel’s name. He nodded, then called in to his dispatcher.
She didn’t bother to listen to what he was saying—she was exhausted, completely worn
out from the emotional roller coaster she’d ridden all day. Settling back against
her seat, she closed her eyes and prepared to zone out for the length of the trip.
She’d spent the last six hours locked in her head— not a pretty place at the best
of times, let alone after everything that had happened that day—and it was more than
time for a break.

Except the driver didn’t seem to understand how tired she was. He’d barely pulled
into traffic before he started fiddling with the radio, moving through a bunch of
stations and a lot of static before settling on one that declared it was the home
of rock in Houston.

Her stomach pitched and rolled. “Please,” she said in a voice little above a whisper.
“Can you turn that off?” With her luck, they’d play a Shaken Dirty song, and she just
wasn’t up to hearing Ryder’s voice right now. Not if she wanted to get to the hotel
without having a complete and total emotional breakdown.

“Sure, sure,” the man said in heavily accented English. He tossed a nervous glance
over his shoulder at her. “But this is a good station. Good music.”

“I’m sure it is. But I have a headache. I don’t want to listen right now.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He stopped at a red light, reached for the dial. But instead
of turning the radio off, he just played with it for a minute, before tuning it back
to the exact same station.

She started to ask again, but before she could get the words out, the song ended and
the DJ came back on. “That was ‘Take Me’ by Darkness. Now, we have a special treat
for you—an in-studio performance of a brand new song by one of your favorite bands.
Earlier tonight, Ryder Matthews, lead singer of Shaken Dirty, stopped by and did a
quick interview with us, which we’ll be playing in its entirety tomorrow morning at
eight a.m.

“But he also sang a brand new song for us, one that’s not on any of Shaken Dirty’s
albums. In fact, it’s never been recorded before. So, with no further discussion,
here’s Ryder Matthews singing, ‘Pieces of You.’”

Confused, Jamison froze as the opening chords of a song played on acoustic guitar
filled the cab. She knew it was Ryder playing—she’d heard him often enough to recognize
his style—but the idea that he’d stopped by a radio station today made absolutely
no sense. Not when Wyatt was in the hospital. And not after everything that had happened.

Unless he’d been trying to do damage control, to get the word out that Shaken Dirty
was just fine, despite the disasters that were recorded in that damn dressing room.
But then, why the song? Surely a quick interview would have been enough to at least
start on the damage control.

She was still trying to figure out what was going on—while feeling like she’d fallen
down a rabbit hole—when Ryder’s dark, husky tones filled the car. Only it was a Ryder
that few people ever got to hear, one even she and the other band members didn’t see
very often. Somber, languid, heartbroken, the gravelly roughness of his voice worked
its way down her spine before arrowing straight to her heart.

Silent tears slipped down her face as the wounds she’d spent all evening cauterizing
tore wide open.

“Please,” she choked out. “Please turn it off.”

“Listen,” the driver told her. “Listen.”

She didn’t want to listen. Only she didn’t have a choice, because he was making no
move to turn off the radio and she was in no shape to do it herself.

Though she did her best to block Ryder out, it was only a matter of seconds before
the words he sang sunk into her consciousness.

“Pieces of you,

Like a puzzle in my mind—

fitting together

In a pattern I just can’t find.

The freckles on your cheeks,

A perfect dot to dot

The words at your fingertips

Painting pictures that I’ve sought.

Little pieces hold the secrets,

little moments hold the clues,

to the whispers deep inside yourself

and the truth I couldn’t choose.

The sweetness in your touch

skimming down my back.

The glitter in your eyes

that won’t see all I lack.

The fire in your heart,

before we turned to frost.

The roses in your lips

for the kisses that I’ve lost.

I want to hold you

I want to kiss you

I want to love you

Can’t stand to miss you

Cuz, baby, needing you is oh-so-easy to do.

The pieces all asunder

The puzzle a scattered mess

Your smile a fading memory

Your love a broken test.

Little pieces hold the secrets,

little moments hold the clues,

to the whispers deep inside yourself

and the truth I wouldn’t choose.

I want to hold you

I want to kiss you

I want to love you

Can’t stand to miss you

Cuz, baby, loving you is oh-so-easy to do.

Yes, loving you is the only thing I know to do.”

By the time the song drew to a close, Jamison was a mess. She didn’t understand, didn’t
know what it meant. How could he say things like that, how could he sing that song,
mere hours after ripping her heart out of her chest?

“It’s okay, miss. It’s okay.” The driver handed her a box of tissues. She grabbed
a few, used them to wipe from her cheeks tears she hadn’t even been aware of crying.
So much for putting herself back together again.

Of course, the driver chose that moment to pull up to the curb. She reached into her
purse to pay him, when she glanced out the window and realized her hotel was nowhere
in sight.